


The Best Way to Spread Christmas Cheer is by... Snogging?

by the_nokken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), First Kiss, I'm also a sucker for mistletoe kisses, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mistletoe, and a bit of a bastard, im a sucker for fluff tbh, post the little apocalypse that certainly tried but never happened, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21983020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nokken/pseuds/the_nokken
Summary: Oh ho, ho, ho! I know it's the day after Christmas, but I don't care cause I love mistletoe, snow, and two specific idiots. That's right it's mandatory that I write this. Purely for my own enjoyment (and hopefully yours), enjoy! Bon appetit!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 42





	The Best Way to Spread Christmas Cheer is by... Snogging?

Aziraphale had been given credit for creating the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe.  _ “Brilliant. Simply marvelous. A way for humans to show love and intimacy without fear of judgement. Well done, Aziraphale.”  _ Aziraphale had no clear memory of coming up with this ploy however many years ago, he supposed he could have done it, perhaps after a glass of wine too many. But he was never sure. He did love the tradition nonetheless, and made sure to always keep mistletoe on hand for those moments where it seemed like a couple might need a bit of a push to get things going. What could he say, he was a romantic afterall. 

One of Crowley’s biggest secrets was that he was the one to make kissing under the mistletoe the longstanding tradition it is today. It had started as a way to spread lust, or really as an excuse for people to let down their inhibitions and have fun for once. And now, now it was a romantic, beautiful, cliche.  _ Really _ , Crowley thought, glaring at the mistletoe hanging in the window of a cheerfully lit house,  _ whose idea of romance is a parasitic, poisonous plant? _

Seeing as it was nearing Christmas, the damned stuff was everywhere. Mocking him. Or at least, that’s how it felt to Crowley. He wasn’t one for holidays. He’d had a commendation for the commercialization and mass production of Christmas, but he hadn’t done a thing to make that happen, that was simply capitalism at its best. Nevermind the bleeding fact that Jesus wasn’t even born on December 25th, as if he could possibly be a capricorn. No, he was a sagittarius through and through. Crowley was kicking at the dirty, grey snow on the pavement, brooding broodily, he was supposed to pick up Aziraphale. For dinner. But he didn’t even want to go out, hear the fucking holiday music? He’d sooner listen to Gabriel sing. 

Aziraphale loved the holidays. He loved giving gifts, subtly paying for groceries at the shop a few blocks over, he loved the snow, the music, the cinema (he may or may not have had a hand in making a little movie about a man and angel gain popularity), and his favorite: the decorations. Soft and twinkling lights decorated his shop (only open one hour every day, 7:19 am to 8:19 am, holiday hours and all that), a large tree stood in the front window, he kept a gentle fire crackling away in the grate, and wreaths of holly, garlands of pine, and clump after clump of mistletoe made the inside of the bookshop look more like a greenhouse than anything else. 

He knew Crowley was there without looking up from his book ( _ Little Women _ , a return to classics around the holidays was always a favorite of his), after 6000 years carefully coordinating around each other, Aziraphale could tell when he was near. And, evidently, when he was annoyed. 

“Hello, dear.” Aziraphale looked up over the top of his glasses, smiling before reaching for a silk bookmark to hold his place. 

“Hi.” Crowley threw himself onto the soft armchair across from the angel, still wearing a heavy black coat and a thick black scarf that half covered his face. 

“Ha-” 

“Don’t.” Crowley snapped, rubbing his temples. 

“I was only asking ‘have you decided on where you’d like to go to lunch’?” Aziraphale said rather cooly, furrowing his brow. 

“Oh, yeah, I mean, no.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale stood, moving to sit beside him. “What is it?”

“Christmas.” Crowley spat in the way most people said ‘black mold’, ‘cockroaches’, and ‘fruit cake’. 

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced around the shop, suddenly very aware of the barrage of holiday decor adorning every available surface. “Not too keen on it, are you?”

“No.” Crowley muttered, casting a withering glare at the tree which promptly shivered. “Hate it. We’re not going out, I don’t want to be around all of, all of that, those, fucking festivities.” 

“I do have some lovely cheeses I can set out if you’d rather stay in, some crackers, maybe some grapes…” Aziraphale trailed off, lost in thought. 

“Wait, really?” Crowley scoffed. “You’re going to tell me to stop being a grinch, that I need to cheer up since it’s the holidays, that  _ really, Crowley, you’re being a humbug _ , or that I’m being a Scrooge?” 

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed, walking over to place a soft hand on his shoulder, feeling warm even through the layers of heavy coats. “Of course not.” 

“But, the shop… all of this, holly, and pine, and  _ fuck _ is that mistletoe?” Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Really, angel?  _ Mistletoe _ ?” 

“It’s tradition…” Aziraphale flushed, looking away and twisting the hem of his sweater. 

“It’s practically debauchery! Hedonism!” The demon cackled, throwing his head back. “What’s next, bacchanalia? Are orgies endorsed by the Almighty now?”

“Really, Crowley.” Aziraphale stepped forward and grabbed Crowley’s scarf, pulling the demon down into a swift kiss. 

“Ngk?!” Crowley sputtered, half stumbling as Aziraphale pulled away, an almost angelic smirk written on his face. 

“Hedonistic enough for you?” The angel looked up, Crowley followed his gaze to the fresh bunch of green and white clustered mistletoe hanging directly over his own head. “It’s simply tradition. Like kissing at midnight to ring in the New Year. Come on, let’s eat, I think a rather lovely bubbling hot pot is awaiting us in the kitchen.” 

“Angel, what are you doing for New Year’s?” Crowley said hoarsely, tripping over his feet in a vain attempt to catch up with Aziraphale, who laughed (smiling to himself) as he walked to the kitchen.

  
  



End file.
